Loopholes
by madame.alexandra
Summary: In order to take the next step in his relationship with Ziva, DiNozzo knows he's got to inform Gibbs he's about to obliterate Rule 12. He goes looking for a blessing, and Gibbs tests him. A look at Gibbs' reaction to a blatant flouting of his rules, and a look at the many ways Rule 12 has been broken from Paris to now. Tiva-themed/vague parallels to Jibbs, DiNozzo being a goofball.


_A/N: I could probably end up making a damn series of "Fics in which one half of Tiva seeks Gibbs' counsel for something or other" because this is about the fourth(?) one I've written in a month. Anyhow, I like exploring Tiva with Gibbs as a sort of lens for it, and I think next to The Tennyson Poem, this is my favorite. _

_It's been in my head (and summarized on my iPhone) for a long while now, and one-shots are easy to write. Inspired in part by the Season X finale (which I quite enjoyed. ya'll!) _

* * *

_"Give me a tough question."_  
_-Jenny Shepard, NCIS [Kill Ari, Prt 1]_

* * *

He expected Gibbs to be skulking around in the basement with a dirty cup of bourbon and his ancient hand tools, so when he barged in through the perpetually unlocked front door and found himself confronted immediately with the Boss, he was taken aback and the resolve with which he'd come over was dampened some—Gibbs presence in the middle of the living room was unnerving, and robbed him of the chance of a dramatic entrance down the basement stairs.

Anthony DiNozzo shut the stained glass door behind him and strolled towards Gibbs with practiced bravado, careful to exhibit confidence he'd been working up the whole drive over—confidence he suddenly was feeling less and less of. He came to a stop by Gibbs' coffee table.

Gibbs was busy screwing around with his fireplace. The grate was on the beaten up old rug by the hearth, and there was a bucket full of black soot next to him. His old t-shirt was dirty, and there was a blackened rag hanging over his shoulder. He was kneeling on one of those ubiquitous flannel button-downs of his.

After a moment of prolonged staring, DiNozzo cleared is throat.

"Hey, Boss," he greeted roguishly.

Gibbs grunted.

"DiNozzo," he growled in greeting, still staring up his fireplace with a concentrated look on his face.

"Problem with the chimney?" DiNozzo asked casually.

Gibbs didn't answer for a moment. He narrowed his eyes.

"Damn bird's nest up there," he said gruffly. "I can hear 'em," he muttered.

DiNozzo bobbed his head.

"Looks like it hasn't been cleaned in a while," he remarked, eyeing the sooty mess distastefully, and moving away a little—his shoes were pretty expensive after all, and now that he thought about it, this jacket _was_ Armani…

Gibbs shot him a pointed glare and DiNozzo laughed nervously.

"Not sayin' you don't clean it, Boss, just making an observation about all the soot…fireplaces are messy, huh? Can't have 'em in apartments, guess I see why now—you got soot on your face—"

"DiNozzo," growled Gibbs. "Shut-up," he ordered pointedly.

"Shutting up," DiNozzo said seriously, and clamped his trap shut.

He shifted his weight and look around Gibbs' bare bones living room, focusing on it as if he were memorizing every detail: the old books, the bent shades in front of the window, the wrinkled blanket and drooping pillow on the couch. He was bobbing his head slightly and staring at a picture of Shannon and Kelly on the mantle when Gibbs did something that caused a clanging noise and a chunk of stone fell onto the hearth.

Gibbs swore and sat back on his ankles, obviously having _not_ planned on breaking his chimney.

"That didn't sound good," DiNozzo said cheerily.

Gibbs glared at him, and with a wince, DiNozzo gave himself a firm slap on the back of the head. Gibbs glared a tense moment longer and then tilted his head at his senior agent, arching a brow.

"You come over for a reason, DiNozzo?" he asked gruffly.

DiNozzo's breezy grin faded a little and he reached up to scratch the back of his neck self-consciously.

"Nah, just came to chat about the birds in your chimney," he joked.

"You didn't know there were birds in my chimney," Gibbs pointed out seriously.

"Ah, c'mon, Boss, I'm lightening the mood," DiNozzo drawled, holding out his hands gallantly.

"My mood's _light_," Gibbs deadpanned.

DiNozzo managed to glare at him. This was sure to be an awkward conversation, and he should have known Gibbs would never make it easier on him. He was either going to give him a hard time, or give him the silent treatment—or both, which was actually only possible if you were Gibbs.

DiNozzo frowned, and paced a little. He walked past Gibbs, turned, picked up a book of the table, read the title, and then sat down on the couch, holding it in his hands delicately and scanning the cover. He held it up by his face.

"Can I borrow this?" he asked calmly.

"Ah, Jesus, Tony," Gibbs said, giving him an annoyed look. "Spit it out."

DiNozzo slammed the book down on the table, desperately searching himself for all the bravado and confidence and resolve he'd worked up on the drive over here, and managed to straighten his shoulders, lift his chin and look Gibbs straight in the eye.

"Ziva and I have been seeing each other," he announced abruptly.

Gibbs eyed him for a split second, and grabbed a fireplace poker. DiNozzo leaned back, his eyes widening suddenly, but all Gibbs did was turn to the fireplace and start nudging things around again. DiNozzo let out a silent squeak of relief.

"I know," Gibbs retorted. "I been seein' you two _see_ each other for eight years," he growled.

"Uh," DiNozzo began, wincing. "I mean—_seeing_ each other. Dating. Sleeping to—well, there's naked involved," he went on awkwardly.

"Di_Nozzo_," warned Gibbs narrowly.

"It was _her_ idea," accused DiNozzo quickly.

Gibbs scoffed, his eyes still up the fireplace.

"Fine, it was mutual," muttered DiNozzo. He hesitated, and then went on, looking warily at Gibbs' turned head. "Look, do you get what I'm saying?"

"Yeah," Gibbs grunted. "Managed to get married four times, I think I _get_ what you're saying," he added sarcastically. "You're sleepin' with your partner."

DiNozzo flinched slightly. He didn't like that Gibbs put it that way, it toughened the conversation a little—since this was a conversation about a rule he and Ziva were breaking in a pretty huge way.

"Well when you put it that way," he groused under his breath.

"That way's the truth," Gibbs cut him off shortly. He sighed heavily and leaned back, throwing the poker down with a loud clang. "You drove over here at two a.m. to tell me somethin' I already know?"

"You already _knew_?" squawked DiNozzo, offended. "I drove over this late—I couldn't sleep—dammit, Gibbs, why are you cleaning your chimney at two in the morning?" he spluttered nonsensically. He narrowed his eyes and glared. "If you already knew, why'd we get away with it?"

Gibbs gave his senior agent a good, hard look. Leroy Jethro Gibbs wasn't born yesterday and he wasn't a man oblivious to his very obvious surroundings; gut feelings and past personal experiences informed him clearly what had been going on under his nose and behind his back, and he had let it slide because it had never affected their work. There had only been a slight change in the way they bickered, and a minor shift in the way they came into work grinning like smug fools the day after they bickered—probably because they went home together and worked it out like he and Jen used to a lifetime ago. Their feebly clandestine affair had interfered in no detrimental way with the job they had to do; if anything, he'd noticed a slight maturity in the decisions they made when it came to threatening situations—they never partnered up for shoot-outs, clearing dangerous areas, or facing down dirt bags anymore.

Gibbs knew it was because they chose to remove themselves from situations that would force difficult decisions or emotional compromises, and he respected that choice with his silence and a blind eye.

Gibbs shrugged.

"Didn't affect your work," he said bluntly. "None of my business."

DiNozzo looked stunned, and angry. He held out his hands.

"Hell," he swore. "I screwed us fessin' up, then," he griped, narrowing his eyes.

"Yeah, why _did_ you do that, DiNozzo?" patronized Gibbs.

He raised his eyebrows and waited. DiNozzo rubbed his palms together and lifted his shoulders, struggling for words. He was tempted to give some sort of biting comment and leaving, but he wasn't really bothered that Gibbs had already known. He was here for a reason that would really blow the lid off the whole can of worms anyway, so it wasn't as if he could ask Gibbs to forget he'd said anything.

Gibbs turned and moved things around, wiping off his hands and throwing broken pieces of concrete back into the grate.

"Is she pregnant?" he asked bluntly.

"No!" DiNozzo yelped, startled. "No, are you _insane—you_ think I'm sixteen or somethin'? Jeez, Boss, I know how to _not_ knock a girl up when I'm havin' a _secret_ affair!"

Gibbs stood up and threw the rag onto the mantle.

"Then why're you actin' so damn nervous, DiNozzo?" he demanded gruffly.

He grabbed a folding chair and pulled it up, sitting down and leaning forward. DiNozzo ribbed is forehead, avoiding Gibbs' glare for a moment while he hastily tried to deal with the panic he'd felt at the very idea of Ziva being pregnant right now. _That_ was something he wasn't ready for—and the fact that it wasn't an accidental pregnancy he was here about provided him with the strength he needed to get to the point.

He lifted his head and balled his hands into fists on his knees.

"You aren't the easiest guy to talk to, Gibbs," he said roughly, giving Gibbs a frustrated look. "I know I talk a lot, but not about serious stuff, and this is serious. I need you to listen."

Gibbs folded his arms and leaned back, his posture stiff. He nodded his head once.

"I'm listenin'," he said coarsely.

DiNozzo breathed out heavily.

"Okay," he muttered, getting his words in order in his head. "This thing with me'n Ziva, it's not gonna—_end_. It stopped being casual—oh, screw it; it was never casual, okay? People like me and her—people who go to Somalia to get the other back or, or spend eight years watchin' the other's six, that doesn't ever start casual, it's serious from the start, and it's _really_ serious, Gibbs," DiNozzo said solidly. "Really _serious_," he reiterated.

Gibbs' face was unreadable.

"You've slept with co-workers before," he pointed out tersely. "Cassidy," he reminded DiNozzo. "Barrett."

"That's different," DiNozzo burst out angrily.

"How?" Gibbs prodded calmly.

"Cassidy was before Ziva," DiNozzo snapped. "Barrett—Erica was," he broke off, frustrated, his eyes darkening.

"Barrett was stupid," Gibbs said coolly. "What you were doin' with Barrett was tryin' to make a point."

"I'm not trying to make a point now!" DiNozzo barked aggressively. "Look," he started harshly, narrowing his eyes, "This isn't about Paula Cassidy or EJ Barrett. This is about Ziva David," he said in a calmer tone. He grit his teeth. "I _slept_ with those women. I _love_ Ziva. I love her."

Gibbs' mouth twitched slightly. He narrowed his eyes.

"You tell her that?" he asked.

"Yes," DiNozzo said tensely. "And it was hard enough to say it to her. Sayin' it to you isn't much easier."

Gibbs fell silent and DiNozzo leaned back, turning his face away and rubbing his jaw. He didn't think this was going as well as he'd anticipated—and he hadn't even anticipated much in the way of Gibbs' dealing with all this. He had expected to be silently chastised—he hadn't really counted on Gibbs challenging him, almost belittling him, suggesting that he had a pattern with NCIS women and this was just another fleeting thing.

He leaned forward, holding out his hands for emphasis.

"I love her, Boss. I love her like I loved—Jeanne," he paused, and swallowed hard. "'Cept it's better," he went on hoarsely. He closed his eyes a little. "It's much better."

He'd learned to love a woman when he'd loved Wendy. He'd learned how to convince a woman he was in love, and to feel love, when he'd loved Jeanne. Ziva, he loved—plain and simple; the kind of love that existed at the end of stupid movies and the beginning of tragedies.

Gibbs was silent for a long time. He shifted and rested his arms on his knees, leaning forward and eyeing DiNozzo intently.

"So, what, DiNozzo?" he asked gruffly.

DiNozzo looked up, rubbing his jaw.

"So, I wanna marry her," he burst out.

There was little grace in his revelation, and he could have kicked himself for broaching the central subject with such lack of finesse. He'd wanted to ease Gibbs into the idea before he mentioned that he essentially wanted to fracture their team with promises as real as golden bands.

Gibbs arched an eyebrow mildly.

"What're you doin' here?" he deadpanned. "Shouldn't you ask her?"

DiNozzo blinked at him. He swore he detected a subtle hint of a joke in Gibbs' tone, but he couldn't be sure, and he was suddenly furious. He stood up and glared at Gibbs, pacing over to the mantle. He stared into a half-empty bottle of Kentucky bourbon and then whipped around, his face firm.

"What do I have to do to convince you this isn't a joke?" he demanded.

Gibbs lifted his shoulders.

"Your badge."

"_What_?!" DiNozzo shouted, his face slightly pale suddenly.

Whatever he had expected Gibbs to say, for some reason, it hadn't been that. Even though he knew the rules, and he knew Gibbs—regardless of how often he broke the actual legal code—never broke his own moral code. But to be asked to resign, because he loved a woman?

Gibbs shrugged.

"You pick. Her, or your badge," he said simply. "I won't bend the rules."

He had made a mistake, then, coming clean—putting it in the open. Gibbs said he had known, said he had ignored it—and now, on principle, because DiNozzo wanted to make it official, he was crying foul?

DiNozzo swallowed hard, his face still that ghostly, pale colour, and Gibbs watched the pain flash through his eyes. It only took him a second, though, to reach into his jacket pocket, yank the badge out violently, and throw it onto the floor at Gibbs' feet.

"Give me a tough question," he challenged roughly.

Gibbs' eyes fell on the badge. The words rang in his ears, eerily familiar, and he smirked after a moment. He picked up DiNozzo's badge, running his hand over the raised symbol of everything this former Baltimore cop stood for, and stood up. He stormed forward, grabbed DiNozzo's hand, and smacked the badge back into his palm.

"Good answer," he said gruffly, and turned to the mantle.

He unscrewed the bourbon and reached for the shelf next to the fireplace. He picked up two dusty, unwashed mugs, blew in them, and poured double shots of whiskey into both suspect cups.

DiNozzo clutched the badge in his hand, gripping so tightly the NCIS insignia was imprinted on his skin. He turned his head towards Gibbs, watching him. Gibbs extended his arm and held out a mug to DiNozzo, and DiNozzo scowled, turning stiffly.

"You said you knew we were sleeping together and you ignored it. I tell you I love her, and you tell me it's my job on the line," he snapped. "Ziva or the job? It's an easy choice, Gibbs, but I don't like bein' screwed with," he held up the badge. "I don't get it."

Gibbs shrugged, unfazed, ignoring DiNozzo's anger, and still held the mug out for him patiently.

"Had to test you," he said gruffly, bluntly. "Had to know how serious you were. Sleepin' together's one thing, DiNozzo. Marriage is a personnel issue. Changes things."

Gibbs paused, his face blank for a moment, and his eyes wary.

"And for her sake, Tony," he said quietly. "I _had_ to know you were serious. For Ziva's sake."

DiNozzo eyed him for a moment, and then shoved is badge into his pocket and took the proffered mug of bourbon, holding it in both hands. Gibbs nodded, turned to screw the cap back on the bottle, and then turned around, facing DiNozzo and leaning against the mantle.

Gibbs took a sip of his, unblinking. DiNozzo stared at the whiskey, took a sip, and flinched, his eyes twitching slightly at the burn.

"Blech," he breathed out dryly, wrinkling his nose. He pointed to it. "This is why you're such a grumpy bastard, Gibbs," he muttered, confident he wasn't in reach of a head slap.

Gibbs smirked. DiNozzo walked forward and moseyed up to the mantle, coming to stand in front of the old framed picture of Shannon and Kelly. He set his mug down in front of it and reached out to run his finger around the frame, thinking silently. He turned his head.

"What about Rule Twelve?" he asked sarcastically, quoting the number distastefully.

Gibbs tilted his head, his mug at his lips. He swallowed a mouthful of whiskey.

"I'll figure something out," he grunted, drinking again. He pointed at DiNozzo over the rim of his mug. "Loophole's easy," he said. "Think about it."

"Never date a co-worker," recited DiNozzo. "Damn clear to me," he muttered.

"Date," Gibbs reiterated. "_Date_."

DiNozzo cocked his head thoughtfully. He narrowed his eyes.

"_Married_ isn't _dating_," Gibbs pointed out shortly.

DiNozzo laughed loudly, arching his eyebrows.

"Really, Boss?" he asked. "Didn't think you were one for semantics."

Gibbs shrugged.

"It's all in how you word it," he said sagely.

DiNozzo shook his head.

"Not like you could put your foot down, anyway," he scoffed under his breath. "Paris, ninety-nine? Ring any bells?" he goaded.

"Wasn't a rule, then."

"Yeah, grandfathered yourself in, didn't you?" DiNozzo snorted.

Gibbs looked at DiNozzo coolly, his lined face thoughtful and tired.

"She was a good reason for the rule," he said, in a tone that was impossible to interpret.

DiNozzo swallowed, appropriately chastised, and feeling smaller, somehow, and humbled. He nodded almost to himself and then rubbed his jaw again, picking at a chip on his mug, and staring at the liquid courage inside—courage he didn't need anymore. He shook his head.

"It's different," he said mildly. "Ziva and I are different," he clarified firmly.

He was never going to know what had happened to Gibbs and their former director in Paris, because Ziva was never going to tell him, and when Shepard had died, the fun of prodding Gibbs about it had evaporated.

"Everybody thinks they're different," Gibbs pointed out mildly. He gave DiNozzo a hard look. "Things like this go south, you lose somethin' you can't get back. Working relationships," Gibbs shook his head, "ruined."

DiNozzo nodded.

"I know," he said confidently. He lifted his shoulders in a careless shrug. "It isn't gonna happen," he declared. "We aren't goin' south—'cept maybe for a honeymoon, I hear Mexico's nice—you know anything about that-?" DiNozzo broke off, grinning at the look on Gibbs' face. He swallowed, and cleared his throat seriously. "Things never happen the same thing twice, Boss," he remarked, almost philosophically. "Ziva loves me," he added, a smug brag.

It wasn't meant to insinuate that they were different because Ziva loved where Gibbs' old probie had not, but still, after six years past, an indiscernible pain touched Gibbs' eyes and mouth, and DiNozzo was momentarily sorry that he'd dredged up memories of Jenny Shepard, and the old doubt Gibbs had about how she had ever really felt.

Gibbs said nothing; he nodded and took a profound sip of bourbon—seriously, DiNozzo was actually _offended_ by how stoic and badass Gibbs could make drinking whiskey look.

"Uh-huh," he drawled, arching a brow.

"She does," DiNozzo insisted, affronted. "She told me. Well. I mean, she said it in Hebrew, so I had to look it up, but it counts—plus, it was English the second time—"

"I believe you, DiNozzo," growled Gibbs, rolling his eyes.

He had a close relationship with Ziva; he always had. He knew her, and he had known how she felt for a long time, and she had never needed to breathe a word about it for him to just know, in his gut, that she had set her heart in the hands of Tony DiNozzo.

DiNozzo grinned proudly.

He took a brave gulp of whiskey, coughed, and Gibbs slapped him on the back.

"Thank you, Boss," DiNozzo rasped.

Gibbs grunted. He arched an eyebrow and glared at DiNozzo over his mug.

"When're you gonna ask her?" he asked gruffly.

With a weight finally lifted off his shoulders, DiNozzo reveled for a moment in the giddy feeling coursing through him and gave Gibbs a wry look.

"Dunno, thought I'd see if you had any pointers," he joke blithely.

Gibbs answered with a nicely executed head slap and a fair warning:

"You make any more cracks about my wives, weddings, or Mexico, DiNozzo, and I won't let you take Ziva down any aisle," he growled.

DiNozzo flashed his cocky, charming smirk.

"Try and stop me, Boss."

* * *

_"Things never happen the same way twice, dear one."_  
_-Aslan; The Chronicles of Narnia_

* * *

_-Seems weird to attribute an Aslan quote to Tony DiNozzo, yes? Who cares; I love that quote. And it's as true as it is false, if that makes sense. Regardless, Gibbs had to be called out on his rule #12 hypocrisy, and I just can't help it-I'm a Jibbs girl, through and through, and it will always show in my writing.  
_

_Alexandra  
story #134_


End file.
